“Ah, romance, romance,” said Bulstrode, picking up the book. “You dear, sweet, innocent-minded creatures live on it.” “Yes,” answered Mrs. Blair, smiling a little. “It helps us over the stony part of the road. I have been with my boy all day, and I found I wanted a tonic for my mind; so I took up this book, and actually forgot my poor Hilary for a few moments.” “Is the boy improving, ma’am?” “I am afraid not. He cannot yet leave his bed. His father and I are with him all the time, one or the other. Do you know, Mr. Bulstrode, I never realise what an admirable man my husband is until I see him with his children. If you but knew how tender and interesting and even fascinating he is to them! And if only Hilary--gets well--” Mrs. Blair’s voice broke. “Ah, Mr. Bulstrode, I fear so much--I fear--he will never be well--although--I try--” Mrs. Blair burst unexpectedly into tears. This nearly distracted Bulstrode. He took out his handkerchief and fairly blubbered, saying between gasps: “Now, pray don’t, my dear Mrs. Blair--my sweet, sweet creetur’--” Bulstrode’s grief was inexpressibly ludicrous. But after a moment or two Mrs. Blair recovered herself and apologised for her sudden weakness. “I have had much to try me,” she said, “and then the prospect of being turned out of this place--” “Have you made any arrangements to go elsewhere?” asked Bulstrode. Mrs. Blair shook her head. “My husband would not ask it of his creditors, but it would be to his advantage if he were allowed to remain at Newington. He has really done wonderfully well here, and has made crops that were much better than any his father ever made off the place. It has all gone, of course, on the Campdown track--but still the money was made; and now that my husband is done with the turf forever, I believe in a few years’ time he could be on his feet again.” “I suppose you are attached to this place?” continued Bulstrode. “Yes,” cried Mrs. Blair with tears in her voice. “I don’t know why especially, except that I am prone to become attached to places and people. And, remember, I have lived here ever since I began to think and feel. It seems to me that the troubles I have had tie me to it as much as the joys, and they have been many, Mr. Bulstrode. They were not the griefs you read about in books, but those plain every-day sorrows that come to women’s hearts.” Mrs. Blair stopped; she had uttered no complaint heretofore, and the habit of forbearance was strong upon her. She went to the window and looked out. The clouds had melted away and a summer moon shone fitfully, flooding the river with its silver light. She was recalled by hearing her name uttered by Bulstrode in a curious voice. She resumed her chair and turned her delicate profile towards Bulstrode.